Books, Arts & Manners: More Than a Meal

As a food writer, I am frequently asked about the most memorable meals of my life. Invariably, I say that I consider the question a silly one, since meals depend so much on the circumstances in which they are eaten. Whereupon I am told that that makes me an example of food writers who do not really care for food! Me, of all people, who have spent the best years of my life writing cookbooks, which means the endless testing of recipes to make them as foolproof as possible. (I have strong feelings on the subject, because a) it is low-class not to do one’s best and b) you cannot return a cookbook because it gives poor instructions, as you can return an appliance, for instance, that does not live up to its claims.)

It is true that there are two kinds of cookbook people: writers who cook, and cooks who write. I belong to the first category, whereas the late, great James Beard, God rest his soul, belonged to the second. We often discussed this interesting point in our 7 a.m. conversations—he was the only person I have ever known with whom it was possible to discuss life so early in the morning.

NH

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Nika Hazelton

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As a food writer, I am frequently asked about the most memorable meals of my life. Invariably, I say that I consider the question a silly one, since meals depend so much on the circumstances in which they are eaten. Whereupon I am told that that makes me an example of food writers who do not really care for food! Me, of all people, who have spent the best years of my life writing cookbooks, which means the endless testing of recipes to make them as foolproof as possible. (I have strong feelings on the subject, because a) it is low-class not to do one’s best and b) you cannot return a cookbook because it gives poor instructions, as you can return an appliance, for instance, that does not live up to its claims.)

It is true that there are two kinds of cookbook people: writers who cook, and cooks who write. I belong to the first category, whereas the late, great James Beard, God rest his soul, belonged to the second. We often discussed this interesting point in our 7 a.m. conversations—he was the only person I have ever known with whom it was possible to discuss life so early in the morning.